by A. E. Rayne
Evaine frowned, irritated and helpless all at the same time. There was no Respa, she couldn’t see Tanja, and her mother was leaving her holding the baby. A burst of fire surged up into her chest. ‘Father and Eadmund will return soon,’ Evaine said suddenly, as Runa grabbed her basket and hurried for the door. ‘And everything will be different then, I promise.’
Runa swallowed, pulling the door open and hurrying out into the sunlight, desperate to escape the chill in Evaine’s words.
It was not going to be an easy place to hole up, Eadmund decided, glancing around at the blackened walls of the cramped hall. Skorro had been designed as an island of minimal comfort and maximum strength. The Islanders had certainly tested the latter, and Eadmund decided that he was not so enamoured with the former. He turned towards his wife, who was dabbing at a wound on her forearm. ‘How’s your arm?’ he wondered hoarsely, his throat raw from inhaling so much smoke.
‘It’s not deep,’ she said dismissively, her voice rasping just as throatily as his. ‘Is Thorgils ever going to find their ale stores? I could do with a drink!’
‘The Dragos’ aren’t being especially helpful,’ Eadmund muttered, nodding towards Jaeger, who sat tied to a chair in a corner, towered over by Thorgils. ‘But I didn’t mean that, I meant your whole arm. Tarak did break it only a few months ago.’
Jael smiled, her teeth black with soot. She hadn’t remembered, not till now. All of her ached from crouching in the wooden house the day before. ‘I forgot.’
‘Well, it’s a good thing that it ended so quickly, then.’
‘I’m not sure that everyone would agree with you.’ She nodded towards some of the men who still looked ready for more; Ivaar’s men, Torborn’s men. ‘They didn’t really see much action, did they?’
‘No,’ Eadmund frowned, sitting down next to Jael. He lowered his voice. ‘And that could be a problem. We should have stuck them out in front, before Jaeger’s archers. They could have picked off any dissenters.’
‘You think they’ll support Ivaar to take the crown from us?’
‘There’s a chance.’
Jael sighed, leaning into Eadmund, inhaling him. She had missed him. ‘But don’t you have plans to kill Ivaar? Surely they know that is coming? Makes no sense to put your swords behind a man about to die.’
Eadmund stared at her, confused, his head awash with memories and feelings, none of which made sense anymore. He was certain that he loved her, that he had missed her, but as close as she was to him right now, with those eyes of hers staring into his, he felt nothing at all. He shrugged himself away from her, uncomfortable. ‘Well, there’s often not a lot of sense in most people’s heads, I find.’
Jael saw the tension around his eyes; he looked barely present. ‘We need to drink to your father. All of us do,’ she said sadly. ‘To him and our victory. Leave Ivaar for another day.’ She smiled as Thorgils returned to the hall rolling a large barrel, basking in the throaty cheers of the men who crowded around him, desperately waving empty wooden cups. ‘Besides, we need to get home first. And we can’t do that until we find out what position we’re in here. After what Edela warned, we have no idea what disaster Lothar might have led everyone into.’
Eadmund nodded, eager for a cup of cold ale to wet his dry throat. He groaned as he stood, stretching out his back. ‘Well, hopefully, we’ll hear something soon, before someone tries to kill our prizes!’
‘Runa!’ Edela smiled as they bumped elbows in front of a stall selling jars of sweet honey and twists of spice. ‘And how are your arms faring today?’
Runa rolled her eyes at Biddy, who nodded in sympathy. ‘I can’t say very well, I must admit. It was hard to get any sleep last night. Although,’ she surmised quietly, ‘that may have been because of Evaine.’
‘You can come and stay with us, can’t she, Edela?’ Biddy said encouragingly.
‘Of course,’ Edela smiled, handing over a silver coin to the toothless merchant who placed a jar of honey into her basket. ‘But perhaps that will just make things worse?’
‘I think it would,’ Runa said nervously, her eyes ferreting about. ‘Besides, I am not sure she is being particularly attentive to the baby at all. It seemed just an act she put on while Eadmund was here.’
Edela led them away from the merchants and their open ears. ‘I would not be surprised. But you must remember that you are not her enemy, not unless you do something to come between her and Eadmund. You see, that is her only goal. To have him all to herself, as Morana wishes.’
Runa sighed, walking with her eyes down, wondering how she had ever been talked into taking Morana’s baby all those years ago. She had Fyn, she did not want another, especially the offspring of an evil witch. But in the end, her guilt had overwhelmed her reason, and she had gone along with Morac. After all, Fyn wasn’t his. She felt that she owed him a child he could truly love.
But what would that decision cost them all now?
‘Is there nothing we can do to stop her?’ Biddy wondered. ‘While she is binding Eadmund to her like this? With that candle and those stones and whatever else she has done to him?’
‘Perhaps when he returns we will be able to get him tattooed?’ Runa suggested hopefully. ‘Won’t that protect him? Stop Evaine from turning his heart towards her?’
Edela shook her head. ‘No, that will only help someone before something happens. It is not a cure. When Eadmund was here I was barely awake, so it is hard for me to see what has happened, but I will dream on him tonight. I will try and see what she has done to him.’
They were drunk now.
Jael watched, frowning as the Islanders taunted Jaeger and his brother, who had been separated but equally jeered at.
As long as they left it at that.
There were no women on the island and nothing to do but drink and wait and search for any food that Jaeger may have hidden away. With nearly 600 thirsty, hungry Islanders, it would not be long before all the food and ale was gone.
‘Not happy?’ Thorgils smiled, plonking himself down onto the bench Eadmund had just vacated. ‘After what you did?’ He slapped her on the back. Drunk.
‘Me?’ she looked confused.
‘Leading us like that,’ he mumbled between mouthfuls of ale. ‘With the houses, and the fire... and the catapults.’ Thorgils leaned his big bushy head towards her, his eyes wide. ‘And the victory!’
‘Victory?’ Jael had drunk a few cups of ale herself, but despite overwhelming exhaustion, she was unable to relax at all. ‘This island?’ She shook her head. ‘Hest would be the real victory,’ she said quietly. ‘But if Lothar hasn’t defeated Haaron, then we’re just a target or a pawn.’
‘But we have our prizes!’ Thorgils insisted, ale slopping over the side of the cup which wobbled unsteadily in his blackened hand. It was terrible ale, but no one had noticed. ‘Bargaining power,’ he winked.
‘Mmmm,’ Jael mumbled, looking at Jaeger and Berard as Thorgils turned away to knock his cup into Fyn’s. So many rumours had flown around over the years, but the one sticking in her head now was about Haaron’s youngest sons and how he did not favour them at all.
There was no spoon, so Lothar ate the stew with his hands, humiliated, but happy to have food in his desperately empty belly at last. By the time his bowl had been dished up, it was long cold, but he didn’t care.
He was certain that he had not endured a more horrendous day in his life; trekking through rugged mountains on blistered feet, boots worn through, with barely a drop of water, or rest.
Haaron was a miserable, vengeful king, he decided. Lothar was certain that he would not have treated him in such a disgraceful way if their positions had been reversed. But Haaron was the only way he was going to get out of this mess alive, and somehow he needed to find common ground; somewhere to begin their negotiations, which, so far, Haaron had completely refused to entertain.
Lothar refrained from licking the bowl, which he would have done if he weren’t a king, in full view of his men and
his enemies. Instead, he belched loudly and struggled to his feet, his whole body creaking with the effort. He was certain he wouldn’t be able to get through another day like this. He had to try and talk Haaron around now.
If things went well, perhaps there was even the chance of a horse?
‘Tell me about your father,’ Jael demanded for the second time. Jaeger clamped his blistered lips shut and looked away. She had expected that and didn’t even frown as she stood there before him, trying to make herself heard above the noise of the tightly packed hall. ‘Listen,’ she said firmly, leaning towards him. ‘I’m sure you want to live...’
He spat in her face. ‘Get away from me, bitch!’
She didn’t flinch, but a few men around her did.
Eadmund strode up to Jaeger and slapped him on the back of the head. ‘You don’t talk to the Queen of Oss like that,’ he warned. ‘There are a lot of men here who will have a big problem with you if you do. And we will be helpless to stop them, I’m afraid.’
‘Queen?’ Jaeger sneered. ‘You must be getting desperate if you couldn’t find anyone better than this Brekkan whore to replace your dead father!’
Eadmund punched Jaeger straight in the eye, clenched his jaw, ignoring the ache in his hand, and walked away.
There were cheers as Jaeger’s head lolled about helplessly, his arms tied to the chair. He couldn’t move, and when he tried, the coarse ropes chewed through his soot-covered skin. He bit down on the pain searing through his eye, which was not as bad as the pain in his bleeding ankles, and lifted his head, staring defiantly at Jael with the one eye that was still open.
‘As I was saying,’ she continued, her expression unwavering, ‘I’m sure you want to live, but as we both know, your father doesn’t care if you do, not really. Neither you, nor your brother over there.’ She nodded towards Berard, who was being taunted by some of Ivaar’s Kalfans. ‘So, I wouldn’t rely on Haaron to save you.’
‘Why not kill us, then? Why keep us prisoner? What use are we to you?’
Jael wasn’t sure she had an answer, but Jaeger didn’t need to know that. She shrugged. ‘You’ll either help us get what we want, or you’ll fetch a good price as a slave, I’m sure. Although your brother, perhaps not so much.’ She watched the smallest hint of panic flicker across Jaeger’s face, but it disappeared quickly, and all she was left facing was a furious amber eye so ruthlessly cold that she wondered if she had seen it at all. ‘Either way, we’ll find some use for you both, I promise.’
They had thankfully found a wide, flat expanse to sleep in. Well, it was not that wide, nor especially flat, but it was a vast improvement on the narrow, cliff-hugging paths they had stumbled up all day long and Lothar was pleased about that at least.
Haaron’s men had erected a tent for their king, complete with a bed and furs. The rest of them would sleep in the dirt, it appeared; even the King of Brekka, Lothar grumbled to himself. He was a Furyck, raised by a king, brother to a king, and finally, one himself. He was not a man used to lying in the dirt.
‘You have eaten, I see,’ Haaron noted disinterestedly as he approached. ‘It’s so peaceful now that we don’t have to listen to your fat guts griping.’
Lothar frowned, letting the slight slip away unanswered. ‘I have, yes. Perhaps now would be a good time for us to speak, in private?’
It was Haaron’s turn to frown. He flicked his tongue over his teeth, working out the bits of stew stuck between them. ‘What did you want to talk about, Lothar, King of Nothing? Your death? And when I will claim it?’
Lothar tried not to shudder, but Haaron’s face was sharper than the tip of a blade as he leaned towards him, sneering. ‘No, I thought we could discuss your island and whether you wanted it back? But more than that... there are other matters we must talk about. Matters that if agreed upon, would, I’m sure, prove beneficial to us both.’ He pushed his shoulders back as far as he could, grimacing at the ache in them. Even his hair hurt as he stood there in the approaching darkness, on the high cliffs overlooking the Adrano.
Haaron’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Well, let us walk then, and you can tell me what you have to offer that I would find beneficial,’ he smiled. ‘For I am weary after the day, and would appreciate something to laugh at.’
Gant watched as Lothar and Haaron fell in beside one another, disappearing into the night. He had been the one who decided to save Lothar. They could have left him to die, perhaps should have.
And now?
He didn’t imagine that Lothar was plotting to save anyone but himself.
The laughter washed over her like a wave, threatening to drown her in despair.
Gleeful, hysterical, victorious laughter.
Edela was desperate to hold her hands over her ears, but she couldn’t move. Why? Why couldn’t she ever move in these dreams? She felt trapped, as though she was buried beneath the earth, locked in an airless chamber of darkness; approaching death, the loss of all hope.
The laughter grew louder and louder and then abruptly stopped, its echo continuing to vibrate around Edela as her body shook in time.
‘I wish you could see what I can, Edela!’ the voice crowed happily. ‘She doesn’t realise who she has in her hands... what she has, so near... her prisoner. Hahahaha... She doesn’t realise that she could stop it all now. End everything. Now. No prophecy. Nothing. Nothing would happen if she finished him. And she could. He’s right there. She has the sword...’
Edela frowned. Her chest ached as though her heart was being squeezed by a strong hand. Pain shot up her arms. Her breath struggled from her lungs.
What did she mean?
What did she want?
‘But she doesn’t see it, just as you don’t see it... and you will all live to regret that soon.’
‘We will find out in a few days where we go from here, once we get word back from Hest!’ Eadmund called above the noise. ‘But for tonight, we celebrate our victory! The victory of a small group of islands against the might of Haaron Dragos! Revenge for all the lives and ships he took from us four years ago!’
The cheers were deafening in such a cramped hall, deafening too because the Islanders were drunk with success. They had never known a victory like this. Nothing so comprehensive, so utterly devastating. And with barely any losses.
This was a victory the gods would applaud.
But still, it was tinged with the bittersweet memory of their king’s death.
Eadmund raised his cup, waiting for the men to quiet around him, wondering if he trusted himself enough to keep going. He had been numb since it happened, but the ale had broken through the walls around his heart, and he felt himself becoming more and more morose. ‘My father,’ he began, and his voice shook, his lips wobbling. Eadmund dropped his head and took a deep breath, tears stinging his eyes. ‘My father will be smiling in Vidar’s Hall tonight!’ he cried to the sooty, bloody, drunken mess of men before him. ‘Proud of his Islanders! Proud of our victory!’ More cheers as cups and hands banged on tables. ‘Proud too, of the woman he chose to lead us.’ There was complete silence as Eadmund turned to Jael, who stood next to him, suddenly awkward. ‘He put all his hopes in you. He believed that you would lead us to victory. And you didn’t let him down. Or any of us. You made this happen, Jael.’
Jael blinked, swallowing, surprised by this public show of... she wasn’t sure what. She felt so uncomfortable. It was surely about Eirik, not her.
But the men seemed to disagree, at least most of them did. She didn’t see Ivaar amongst the cheering Islanders who raised their cups and thumped their chests, calling her name, nor all of the lords either, but there were some there now, some who had scowled at her before – Torborn, Hassi, Frits – they were smiling.
Jael sighed, a lop-sided grin forming at last. ‘Well, I didn’t know your king long,’ she said, trying not to picture Eirik’s face as he lay dying before her. ‘But Eirik Skalleson was a true king, a king to be proud of. He cared more about all of you than he ever cared for himse
lf. And Eadmund and I will do everything we can to give him all that he wished for... for Oss, and all of the islands. But first, we have to make sure that we take this victory back home. And to do that we need to stay sharp. Until we find out what has happened with Haaron and Lothar, we need to protect our prisoners and keep our heads. So, one more drink, then go and get some sleep!’ She tried to keep a straight face, watching the horror grow on theirs.
They were on their feet then, booing, bellowing, turning their smiling faces towards Jael and Eadmund, cups in the air.
Eadmund looked at the affection on the men’s faces as they cheered his wife. He had said what was right, what needed to be said. And it was all true. But as he stood there, exhausted, broken-hearted and grieving, all he could think about was Evaine and his son.
They sat by Haaron’s fire, and Lothar was grateful for its warmth, for, despite the temperate climate in the South, the nights were proving bitterly cold.
‘And you think you have something I want? You?’
‘Besides your island, you mean, or perhaps your sons?’ Lothar smiled, his confidence growing.
Haaron frowned. ‘You do not know me, or you would not make such an assumption.’
Lothar was not to be deterred. ‘We are no longer young men,’ he suggested, swallowing the insipid small ale that Haaron had provided. ‘And perhaps the time for endless battles is now better replaced by forging alliances and negotiating agreements?’
Haaron raised a woolly eyebrow. ‘And what do you have to offer me?’ he sneered. ‘My kingdom’s wealth outstrips yours. Merchants flock to my piers, desperate to trade in my markets. My coffers are overflowing. I have four sons,’ he began, then stopped. ‘I have at least two sons and the ability to rebuild my entire fleet within the year. I’m curious to know what you think I need? From you?’
